Yore… a poem

two person fencing inside the gym

Strike at me?

Beyond the sword.

Lethal, as the gnashing teeth

Penetrating to my core.

Piercing through the breast

The words you thrust

I can parry – no more.

Strike at me?

My time is yore.

Author: What Words May Come

Hopeless romantic; joker; father and grandfather; husband; sportsman; part-time writer;

5 thoughts on “Yore… a poem”

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